


Scars

by Sky_kiss



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Body Worship, Copious Amounts of Sass, Even Manuela is disgusted by her flowery inner monologue, F/M, Lap Sex, Married Couple, Married Sex, Post-Game(s), but like, she's happy so whatever, this is cloyingly oversweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 03:24:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sky_kiss/pseuds/Sky_kiss
Summary: “You risked yourself to save my child...I never did thank you for your sacrifice.”Or: Manuela's scar still aches when it rains. Luckily, shealsohas a handsome husband to improve her mood.





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> ...need to write some Byleth now. Continuing my singular quest to provide Manuela with too much love and a disgustingly sweet/happy postwar life.

Her scar ached when it rained.

Initially, she had theorized it was the result of the Death Knight’s unique blade. Perhaps a low level poison which had yet to clear her system. That theory had proven false. The years wore on; rain came and went and she _still_ hurt. 

Pain born of trauma, then. Wonderful.

An irritant. Manuela rested her chin in her palm, shifting in her seat. It was nearing the end of the day. Her last class had finished well over an hour prior. The silence drifting through the halls suggested most of her students had either retired for the evening or had sought out entertainment more suited to lazy afternoons. 

Seteth was far better at this sort of thing. She favored a more hands on approach, active demonstrations rather than standardized testing. His approach was consistently more strict. Or scholarly, depending on how generous you were feeling. She pursed her lips, glanced towards the stack of papers in front of her, then at the window. Rain was coming down in sheets, splattering against the glass. The fading light left the courtyard looking like nothing more than a wash of gray. 

It was an evening for curling up in bed with a glass of wine and a handsome man. Not for paperwork. And besides, no one could fault her. Her ‘war wound’ was acting up. Manuela straightened her students essays before setting them neatly in a desk drawer. Tomorrow; there was always tomorrow. She slipped on her shawl, locked the classroom door behind her, and set a course for her home. She’d look half drowned by the time she arrived but…

...well, there were benefits to that as well. She had someone waiting for her. Goddess, she was too old to start blushing over such tripe. 

It was just...nice. Having someone. Being loved.

She rolled her eyes. Rational thinking didn’t stop the way her cheeks burned. Ridiculous, Manuela.

Set out in the countryside, her school was hardly as grand as the academy. She wouldn’t call it rustic, of course, she _had_ designed it, but it certainly reflected its more rural surroundings. Most of her contacts had laughed at the notion of the vaunted Manuela Casagranda retiring away from the city. War had soured her on such locales. She’d seen far too many bodies littering the streets. Those images didn’t just fade. Even Seteth, stoic Seteth, agreed. 

She _liked_ her relatively humble school and her relatively humble life. They were a comfort. There were few things she could claim to enjoy as fully as rounding the corner and seeing the warm glow of a fire illuminating their home.

Manuela hummed to herself. The pleasure of being home and out of the rain drowned out the dull ache of her old injury. She rapped on the door once in warning before pushing inside. Seteth was already waiting, settled on the chaise with a book in his lap. He cut quite the image. She allowed herself a moment to admire the handsome curve of his throat and the hint of clavicle. A garish purple mark marred the otherwise flawless skin of his throat. A gift from their prior exertions. She chewed the inside of her cheek, grinning. She shrugged out of her shawl, uncaring as it fell to the floor. 

Seteth glanced up. He shook his head. The pale green of his eyes was even brighter in the firelight, glittering with mischief even as he clucked his tongue. “You’ve not been home five minutes and already you’ve made a mess.” 

“You knew what you were getting into when you married me.” 

He chuckled. “I suppose I did. Come. Join me. You must be quite chill.” 

She was not. The late August air remained warm; the rain itself bordered on tropical. Manuela mimed a shiver, scrubbing her hands along the outside of her biceps. “Freezing, now that you mention it.” He set his book aside, admiring the exaggerated sway to her hips as she closed the distance between them. “You’ll warm me up? Won’t you, Seteth?” 

“That _was_ my intent.” 

She snorted. So much for a bout of verbal repartee. 

Still, it was difficult to muster any genuine frustration. His hands curled over her hips, pulling her near without a hint of concern for her drenched clothing. He kissed her. She had always enjoyed kissing and very few men were genuinely good at it. Seteth was an exception. He kissed slowly, languorous, as if they had all the time in the world. She did shiver then, snuggling into his chest until it was necessary to break for air. 

Manuela grinned, scratching the back of his neck, tracing the underside of his jaw with her nose. “Tell me you missed me.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

“And you love me?”

“Do you expect that to have changed in the span of an afternoon?” 

She pinched his shoulder. “Play along.” 

Her husband huffed. “Yes. My affections remain much the same.” He curled a finger beneath her chin, drawing her close. “Come. Such niceties can wait a time. Your comfort is paramount.” 

“I quite like where I am.” 

He smiled, taking a step away from her. Seteth pressed a chaste kiss to the back of her knuckles. “A change of clothes is in order, Manuela. I will fetch the wine.”  
____

And so here they were. 

Manuela trailed her fingers over the rim of her glass. Her husband had returned to his reading, hand curled over her hip. The novelty of such aimless intimacies had not faded. Even still, she could not help shifting. While her husband was certainly less frail than his appearance would suggest, there was still a litheness to his figure. His hip bones dug at her side. 

Rain continued to fall unabated outside. The fire crackled merrily. 

“Something troubles you?” 

She sighed, glancing up at him. As often as they discussed their days spent teaching at the academy, the war itself remained a black note. They had both lost students. They both carried scars. Manuela turned her nose into his chest, curling more tightly against his side.”No. Nothing like that.” She took his hand, shifting it inwards to rest over her scar. “Just the past paying me a visit.” 

“Your scar?” 

She nodded. 

Seteth frowned. She had not felt like redressing after her return, choosing instead to wrap herself in one of their spare quilts. He parted the material, letting it pool on either side of her. He brushed the backs of his fingers over the mark. 

Her husband’s countenance tended towards severity by nature; his brow furrowed, lips pursing as he leaned back to examine the scar more carefully. Manuela shifted. _Her_ instinct was to cover herself, to hide. She was ashamed. Not only did it represent her failure, it was quite...well unsightly. The puckered mark was the singular blemish stretching across her belly, bisecting the flat plain. The flesh was an ugly pink/white, simultaneously torn and smooth in that way only scar tissue seemed to manage. She hid the scar beneath her palm.

He shook his head. Gently, almost delicately, Seteth threaded their fingers together, leading her touch away. He bowed his head, hesitating a hairsbreadth from her skin. She fought the urge to shiver, his name poised on the tip of her tongue. She was not in the mood for teasing. Especially not over old hurts. 

Seteth pressed a kiss over her scar. He pressed his lips to the mark and lingered, nose tweaked against her belly as if in supplication. 

“What...Seteth, what in the goddesses’ name has possessed you?” Her voice had a hateful, shaking, quality to it. Manuela swallowed. Her throat felt thick quite suddenly, mouth dry, as she stroked his hair. When she made to lead him away, he shook his head. “Seteth…” 

“...this wound. You intended to rescue Flayn.” 

“Of _course_, I did.” He stared up at her with his odd green eyes. Her husband was a handsome man, sometimes beautiful, but he was...otherworldly in that moment. There was a fierceness to him born across centuries of living. “She was missing and I couldn’t...wouldn’t allow anything to happen to her.” 

“You knew before all of us.” There was a feverish heat coloring his kisses. They threatened to burn her. Consume her. Manuela shifted beneath him, chewing the inside of her cheek. Seteth traced the mark with his tongue. “It nearly cost your life.” 

Years removed from the event and she remained bitter. “He _jumped_ me. I like to think I would have handled myself bet…” the rest of the word was lost in a groan. The tissue was more sensitive than the areas surrounding it. Seteth dragged his teeth over her scar, nipping where the discoloration was most notable, before pressing his tongue flat to soothe any discomfort. 

“Would you fault me if I said I found this beautiful?” 

She snorted, staring up at the ceiling. It was easier than looking at him. “Delusional, darling. I’d call you delusional.” 

He hummed. The sound chased through her, resonating somewhere deep in her own chest. “Perhaps.” His hands smoothed down over her hips, canting them upwards. A sickly thrill of anticipation settled low in her belly, marrying with desire. Seteth spread her legs, draping her thighs over his shoulders. “You risked yourself to save my child…” 

“...we all…” 

Seteth cut her off, teeth scraping over her hip bone. She whined, digging her heels between his shoulder blades. “I never did thank you for your sacrifice.”

She swallowed, fingers curling in the quilt. Seteth dragged his lips down her stomach, down until the warmth of his breath tickled over her core. She squirmed. Manuela was far from shy. Her own stable of lover’s vastly outnumbered the women Seteth had taken over the course of his long life. It was the weight of his stare which gave her pause. The heaviness and the undeniable adoration. 

He was grateful to her. He was in love with her. He wished to demonstrate both. 

Manuela brushed the hair back from his face, lingering on his cheek before she nodded. 

The chaise was too confined for any great deal of mobility. It suited them well enough in the moment. A soft sigh escaped her. The air around them was already overheated, bordering on stifling. Manuela closed her eyes, inhaling sharply as Seteth nosed her clit. 

He was not the showiest lover she’d ever taken; Seteth was efficiency personified in his day to day life. As a lover he was not terribly different. There was intent behind every stroke. The first weeks of their countship had been spent in exploration and he had catalogued her bodies reaction to every touch with fastidious care. He knew what she liked and what her body reacted to and focused on those touches. 

In short, it was deeply pleasurable and simultaneously businesslike. And while she would never dream of turning his attentions away (she enjoyed them far too thoroughly) it struck her as...ill suited to anotherwise indulgent evening. Manuela chewed her lower lip, chuckle airy as he circled her entrance. 

“Something amuses you?” 

She focused on centering herself. It was more difficult than she liked to admit; he _was_ good with his tongue. Manuela scratched her nails over his scalp. “I’m afraid to say. You do have me at a bit of a...disadvantage.” 

“Tell me. Your honesty is one of your finest traits.” 

He could be a bastard when he set his mind to it. She was wet for him, panting as he slid two fingers inside her. He spoke with the same professional disinterest he might employ if she suggested looking over the school’s budget. Manuela rolled her eyes. “You never really cut loose, do you, Seteth?” She was forced to pause in the middle of the sentence, wincing against the first swell of her orgasm. 

He pulled back, brow furrowed. “If you would prefer…” 

She snorted. Manuela squirmed just enough to put space between them, setting her knee against his shoulder. She felt the muscles flex, ready to fight her, before he consciously forced them to relax. “You're a dear to do this for me. Don't think me ungrateful. But…" she shrugged. She wanted more. She wanted her husband. "Spontaneity, dear.” She looped her arms around his neck, settling herself over his lap. 

“I am not spontaneous.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know, darling. Luckily, I am.” 

“And that, my _dear_,” he lingered on the endearment, fingers brushing over her scar. “Is why you have this.”

“Mmm, _you_ are more than welcome to stab me.” 

“_Manuela_.” 

She laughed. “Oh, don’t scowl. You’ll wrinkle. You’re too handsome for wrinkles.” 

Seteth tucked his face in the curve of her throat, grumbling something in a tongue long since dead. It was the clearest sign that she’d managed to get under his skin. There were two languages he lapsed into in his frustration; one was harsh and guttural and ancient. The second was...lyrical. The sort of thing she could listen to for hours, even if she did not truly understand. 

He was frustrated, it said, but not in an unpleasant way. She supposed it was the ‘Seteth’ version of playfulness. Manuela pressed a kiss to his temple, reaching between them to stroke him. She swiped her thumb over the head of his cock, snickering at the way he bared his teeth against her skin.

“This,” he mumbled, pressing a hand to the small of her back. She allowed him to bow her back. Seteth paused, tongue smoothing along the seam of his lips, before leaning forward to drag his teeth over the rise of her breasts. “Was _supposed _ to be about you.” 

Her laugh bled into a softer sigh, brow furrowing as she lifted her hips. He was oddly gentle with his first press into her body, slower, as if savoring the sensation. His hands settled on her hips, holding her in place, the lack of movement maddening. She had half a mind to chide him for toying with her. 

Manuela caught the shell of his ear between her teeth, tugging until he grunted, thrusting up into her. A shallow, muted, reaction. But a reaction all the same. The shift made her vision spin, his length buried deeply within her, “As if I didn’t initiate this, silly man..” 

His breath tickled against her throat, the challenge lighting in his eyes as he pressed up on his elbows. He loosed his grip, finally allowing her to move. Manuela hummed her approval, lifting her hips and sinking down on him again, finding her rhythm. Something slow and deep. Nearly meandering in contrast to his more efficient approach.. 

She loved watching him in such moments. Seeing him like this was...affecting. Hers and hers alone, his lips parted, as she rode him. There was power in their couplings, and trust, the knowledge that if she stopped now, even so near the end, and asked him to finish tonguing her, he would. 

“I love you,” the words escaped her in a rush. Manuela leaned forward, stealing his lips before he could reply. The muscle beneath her palm flexed; his need to control warring with his desire to indulge her. To surrender to the moment. She felt the moment when he relaxed again, hips stuttering before rocking back into her. 

It was warm and probably cloying. She’d never liked to linger with her other partners. With her husband...well, she liked the feel of him inside her. She loved wrestling every choked moan from him.

Manuela came with a whimper; the sound was mostly swallowed in the press of his lips. The muscle beneath her hand tightened, brow furrowing as he let go, spilling inside her with a grunt. It was something she’d never really looked forward to before. The odd warmth, the weight, like some intrusion. With Seteth it felt more like potential. Even if there was the same loss, the feeling of his cock softening inside her. She slumped, shifting off of him and collapsing against his chest.

She was vaguely aware of him brushing the hair back from her face. His touch shifted inwards, curling over her hip, her scar. She hummed, snuggling into him. If nothing else, it earned her an indulgent chuckle. Seteth kissed her, still languid. “Shall I draw you a bath?”

It would prove necessary. And as lovely as she felt in the afterglow, the hot water would work wonders for her old wounds. For now… 

She shook her head, curling into him. “Later.” 

The one word was enough. Seteth nodded. It was all woefully mundane and perhaps a touch too sentimental. He wrestled the quilt around them both. Manuela dozed. He read. Her scar did not bother her. 

Outside, the rain continued to pour.


End file.
